


I Is For Imaginary Friends

by mydogwatson



Series: A Baker Street Alphabet [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Meeting, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody needs somebody.  Even a make-believe somebody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Is For Imaginary Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Really don't know where this came from, but once it was written I rather loved it. Hope you enjoy.

What is a friend?  
One soul in two bodies.  
-Aristotle

1

Dear Mrs. Watson,

In reply to your note of yesterday, let me assure you that your son, John, is doing very well here at his new school. As you know, academically, he always tries his very best, and is never happy unless he meets his own goals. Additionally, he is a charming boy, sturdy and determined. He might not master everything on the first try, but he will persist until he does. John seems especially fond of science.

Socially, he is unfailingly polite and kind to others and seems entirely unable to stand aside if anyone is being bullied or picked on. Quite the little soldier!

If I have any concern at all about John, it would be with the one issue we have already discussed. As I mentioned at our first meeting, it is quite common for children to have “imaginary friends.” You did say that this fantasy started two years ago, which is somewhat later than usual and I do find it slightly troubling that at the age of eight John still persists in his fantasy. True to his [quite admirable] nature, he is exceedingly stubborn on the issue. He frequently seems to be conversing with his “friend”, even giggling at times as if at some private joke. When the other children notice and comment, he becomes quite defensive. I have asked him about it, but all he will say is that “Lock is my best friend and has been for two years.” He did add at one point that “Lock knows more than anybody else.” Imaginary friends are often seen as being exceptional in some way, perhaps to make up for shortcomings the child himself may feel.

However, as I have said, John is a bright, happy boy and I am sure this make-believe game will not last much longer. We should not worry too much about this one issue.

Feel free to contact me at any time with your concerns.

Miss Hilda Jones  
Headmistress

 

 

2

Dear Mrs. Holmes,

As promised, I am writing to give you your monthly update on your son Sherlock’s progress here at Bradshaw School. Since his first day here, in our nursery class, Sherlock’s intelligence has shone through, and now that he is six that continues. Of course, he is so very bright that it can cause some problems with his fellow students. It does appear that sometimes Sherlock very deliberately sets out to alienate others. We are hoping that the previously discussed plan to move him up one year will help to alleviate this problem somewhat, as he will not be quite so bored. You might not be aware that Sherlock persists in one behavior that has caused him some problems.

I refer to his continued reliance on his imaginary friend. I know this started when he was four, soon after he first arrived here as a student. At four, a make believe friend is not uncommon. At six, it is slightly unusual—but then, your son is far from “usual”, of course. Whether he sincerely believes in this “friend” or just carries on with the behavior to put off others, I have no idea.

I had thought with the new term, he might have given up insisting on the fable. But, instead, his behavior has actually grown more determined. He refuses to share a desk with any other student and went so far as to make a label for the other chair that reads JAWN.

If you would agree, I think perhaps it might be advisable to have Sherlock evaluated by our resident psychologist.

Of course, it is entirely possible that moving Sherlock into a group with older children might solve this issue as well.

Sherlock is so intelligent that I am sure all of these issues will resolve themselves in time, so we should not worry unduly.

I remain,  
Bernard St. Clair  
Headmaster

3

Dear Mrs. Watson,

First let me express my sympathy and the sympathies of the entire school on the recent loss of your husband. Please be assured that we are aware of how difficult this has been for John and we are doing what we can to help him through this period.

Now, let me say that John is proving himself to be a most remarkable boy. At twelve, he seems quite aware that he is now the “man” of the family and he takes that responsibility very seriously. At the same time, we share your feeling that he should not be too suddenly yanked from childhood, so we have encouraged him to keep up all his activities here at the school. He is an enthusiastic participant in the sports program, continues to strive in his classes, and seems remarkably focused on the future. Currently, he seems torn between a career in medicine or one in the military. I have recently suggested that he might combine both those interests. Still, that is years away.

Socially, John seems able to get along with everyone, although he has no particular pals, which is somewhat concerning, especially as he does persist in one troubling behavior. I know that at his previous school they were aware of his persistent “imaginary friend”. At twelve, especially in a boy as focused as John, I find this behavior confounding.

‘Lock” as he calls the “friend” seems a constant presence in John’s life, although he no longer seems to “talk” to him, at least in public. I once asked him about the mysterious “Lock” and suggested he might invite him to visit. The look I received was quite scathing, especially coming from a boy with such an easy-going nature. “Well,” he said, “I would do if I knew his surname. But I’ll find him someday. Or he will find me. Lock is a blinking genius, you know.” Before I could question him further, he politely excused himself.

I think that perhaps the long illness and subsequent death of his father may have caused him to seek strength from his imagination. I do not believe we can really blame him for that.

Please telephone if you have any questions or concerns.

Yours truly,  
David Withers  
Headmaster

 

 

 

4

Dear Mrs. Holmes,

As this term ends, it is time for another communication regarding your son, Sherlock.

There is, of course, no need to mention his startling intelligence. The latest testing has shown him to be, quite literally, off the charts. As you can imagine, it is a constant challenge to keep him engaged and to avoid the boredom that leads to difficulties for Sherlock himself, not to mention everyone within range.

I am sure that it will come as no surprise to you that the most persistent problem we have is with your son’s social development. Or, more accurately, perhaps I should say, his lack of social development. Sherlock seems more determined than ever to alienate everyone around him. He does so with his quite scathing wit and an ability to understand how best to offend each person. [This is all part and parcel of his intelligence, of course.]

I do realise that the previous psychological evaluation was not terribly useful, but now that two years have passed, it might be time to consider another. That is your decision, naturally.

Such a consultation might help us all to understand Sherlock’s continuing insistence on the existence of his imaginary “friend.” Such a childish habit in a boy as utterly rational as your son continues to bewilder us. The persistence of the notion [which I know was addressed by both of his previous schools] is bothersome. 

While conversation with Sherlock is always interesting, it is not particularly revealing [about him, I mean. About everyone else he is scathingly open. I know you will not have forgotten the incident regarding the games master and the chapel organist. By the way, the replacement organist has asked me to pass along a thank you. The new instrument is quite magnificent.] Anyway, one afternoon recently, I did actually get Sherlock to speak on the subject of the infamous “Jawn.” Admittedly, he was quite distracted at the time with some rather ghastly biological experiment that I am sure had nothing at all to do with his course work, so I am not sure he meant to speak. “Jawn,” he said, “is the least boring boy I ever met.” He then paused in whatever he was doing with what was surely not an actual human finger, and spoke in a quiet tone quite unlike his usual. “Jawn likes me,” he said. Then he seemed to recollect himself and made a remark about my…well, that is neither here nor there.

Sherlock continues to “talk” frequently to his “friend”, which does nothing to make the other students view him more positively.

I await your decision on the suggestion of another psychological evaluation.

Best,  
Richard Smythe-Jones  
Headmaster

 

5

 

Dear Lock,

Well, this is the most ridiculous thing I have ever done.

Why write a letter that will never be sent? That can never be sent, because I have no idea who to send it to. I don’t know your full name, I don’t know where you are, I don’t even know if you would want to get it if I could send it.

No, wait, that’s not right. You are my best friend and I know you would be very happy to hear from me.

No one believes you are real.

Of course, now that I am at uni, I don’t talk about you to anyone else. Had enough of that when I was a kid. I know lots of people, but no one is as interesting as you.

But I think about you and I miss you.

I am going to join the army and become a doctor. Maybe it will be an adventure. It would be better if I had my friend at my side. But I am sure you are doing wonderful things.

I hope you are happy and doing fine.

I am going to burn this and send the smoke into the air.

Your friend,  
John

 

6

Dear Jawn,

This would not make you happy, my friend, I know, if you could see me lying here on this filthy floor, maybe---probably---dying with a needle in my arm. We pictured something else. Oh, the adventures we were going to have. Sailing the seas on a pirate ship. Digging up mummies in Egypt. That would have been so good. But then you vanished in the middle of our hide ‘n seek game. I tried to find you. One day, when I was twelve, I walked around London for over fourteen hours looking for you. My mother was not happy, but when was she ever? But I never found you.

Now here I am. You could have saved me from this.

Oh, I don’t say that to make you feel badly. It’s not your fault, of course. I just meant that maybe having a friend would have made things better.

I hope you are having a happy life. Of course you are. But maybe once in a while you might stop to think of me. No one else will.

Oh, I think the police are here.

Your friend,  
Sherlock

P.S. It is a week later. I am not dead. The detective gave me this note back. The writing is not legible. He said it was cat scratchings. But I remember what I wrote. Think I will make a paper airplane and throw it out the window of this hospital room.  
SH

7

 

To Whom It May Concern,

Although it will probably concern nobody very much. Harry, maybe, if she is not too drunk to notice. And I can’t really write anyway, because I am lying in the sand of Afghanistan bleeding out. So I will just think my final words.

…oh, that hurts…

Lock would care.   
Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know because it would hurt him. I should just…let him go. Go live a good life and don’t think about me anymore, Lock. I promise not to think about you [for however long I can still think of anything] and maybe that will, I don’t know, break the link and you won’t be bothered anymore with thoughts of your imaginary friend.

…that doesn’t make sense, but I’m dying, so give me a break…

Bye, Lock.

Your friend.  
John

8

Dear Mrs. Hudson,

I am writing to let you know that I have decided to take up your offer of the flat in Baker Street. There is still the matter of the rent being somewhat more than I can manage, but I am sure that can be handled. The hunt for a flatmate has not been terribly successful thus far, I will admit. Well, you know me, right?

Your suggestion that I ask a friend would be a fine one if only such a being existed. Sadly, that does not seem to be the case. [I say sadly, but that only applies to the need for rent money, because in all other respects I have no need of such entanglements.]

You might find it hard to believe, but I did once have a friend. We lost one another, though, and I decided I could not do better, so let well enough alone.

Forgive my rambling—I have not slept in four days due to a case, so perhaps I am rather out of sorts.

Anyway, I want the flat.

Thank you.

Sherlock Holmes  
Consulting Detective

 

 

9

The case took them to the British Museum.

“Haven’t been here since I was at primary school,” John said enthusiastically as he trailed Sherlock up the steps in front of the building.

“Really?” Sherlock said.

There was something in his voice that made John look at him. “What?”

But Sherlock did not reply.

He swooped into the mummy room and dismissed the police officers who were standing around uselessly. Lestrade frowned. “Five minutes, Sherlock,” he muttered.

“May need longer. John, please take that side of the room.”

John just nodded and started a slow walk. “What am I looking for?”

“Anything of interest, of course,” Sherlock snapped.

John sighed. Well, the room was full of bloody interesting things, wasn’t it? He thought back to his only other visit—must have been about six, right? Actually, now that he thought about it he’d gotten into some trouble that time, considerable trouble in fact, for wandering off from the school group and managing to evade them for over three hours. That was the day he’d met---he broke off his thoughts as he spied a display case that had been jimmied open. “Hey, ‘Lock, this is---” The words died in his throat. “Lock,” he whispered after a moment.

“Well, I have been wondering if you were ever going to remember,” Sherlock said quietly.

John looked up at his flatmate who was suddenly standing right in front of him. “My god. My god. It’s you. It’s really you. Lock…we met here in the mummy room and spent most of the afternoon hiding out and talking. You were my best friend. I was six and you were four. A four-year-old smart arse.”

Sherlock was smiling. “Everyone spent years trying to convince me that you weren’t real.”

“Me, too.” John suddenly reached out and grabbed him in a hug.

After a moment, Sherlock returned the embrace.

“How long have you known?” John asked.

“Almost from the moment you walked into the lab that day.”

John looked skeptical. “Really?”

Before Sherlock could respond, Lestrade returned to the room. “Not interrupting anything, am I, boys?” he asked, sounding much too amused.

They pulled away from one another.

“John found the case that was entered,” Sherlock replied haughtily. “Which is more than your so-called experts did. A small gold ring is missing.”

“How can you be sure?”

Sherlock sighed. “I have been in this room many, many times over the years,” he said, with a quick glance at John, who knew immediately that Sherlock had been here looking for him. 

Why, John thought, why didn’t I ever come back here?

Sherlock just gave him a small smile, then turned to Lestrade. “I know every object in every case. Check the cleaning crew. One of them will be a young man, eighteen-twenty years old, and in love with a girl way out of his league. The ring is intended to impress her. Sadly, only a very large diamond would do that, so the idiot will go to prison for nothing. Come, John.” And he was gone.

*  
Later that night, after the takeaway Indian was gone, John leaned back in his chair. “Did you really know right away?” he asked. “Even after so long?”

“Of course I did. It wasn’t difficult. You haven’t changed all that much.”

“Since I was bloody six?”

After a moment, Sherlock got up from the sofa and pulled a battered tin box down from the top shelf. He riffled through the contents for a moment, not letting John see anything, before pulling something out. “Admittedly, I did this from memory almost four years after the fact, but I think the likeness is quite accurate.”  
John took the paper from him. On it was a coloured pencil sketch of a boy with yellow-brown hair sticking up every which way. He wore a knitted jumper and blue jeans. Blue eyes sparkled and there was a smile on his lips. Under the drawing were the words My Friend Jawn.

Sherlock went back to the sofa.

A comfortable silence filled the room.

John just kept smiling.

fini


End file.
